


starting fires recklessly

by SugarFey



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: F/F, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFey/pseuds/SugarFey
Summary: “If we’re heading there, you might as well call me Camina.”The electricity has crackled between them since they met, and Naomi cannot stay away from Camina Drummer.(Set around Episode 2-06)





	starting fires recklessly

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born when I thought about Naomi being one of the few characters to call Drummer by her first name, and I wondered how she had learned it. This is set between Season 2 Episode 6: Paradigm Shift and Episode 7.
> 
> Note: I don't like cheating plot lines, so for the sake of this fic, Naomi and Holden are in an open relationship.

 Removing the counter measures from the UN missiles is almost too easy. Earthers really need to work on their security. That, or the UN military is arrogant enough to believe that no Belter would try to hack their systems. 

The _Roci_ crew are Naomi’s family. Jim is her lover, Amos and Alex are her brothers, but the Belt is still in her blood, especially after she watched thousands of her people be slaughtered by angry alien goo. Her crew do try to understand, but they have not grown up with the constant threat of losing water or air, and at times the gap between her life and theirs seems impossibly wide. So, when Drummer offers to buy her a drink after they remove the counter measures together, Naomi accepts. 

The guilt kicks in over the first beer, and Drummer seems to notice.

“Belters stick together,” Drummer says, throwing Naomi a sideways glance over the glass in her hand. The containers in this bar are all Earther stuff. Maybe the owner thinks it adds class. 

“Yeah,” Naomi sighs, “but I feel like I’m lying to my crew.” 

Drummer raises her hand to shrug, Belter-style. “So you helped me with the missiles. We all have secrets. Keeps life from becoming too dull out in space.” 

Naomi chooses her next words carefully, because while she gets along well with Drummer and can’t help but like her, the woman does have a notoriously short fuse. “That’s one way of looking at it.” 

Drummer does not miss Naomi’s hesitation and she refills Naomi’s glass, careful to account for the curve of spin gravity. “I grew up on Ceres. I learned from the start that some things are best keep hidden. We do what we can to survive.” 

Of course. Everything about Drummer screams ‘Ceres,’ from her dark eye shadow to the angular tattoo spreading across her neck; a departure from the traditional Belter style. Naomi wonders, not for the first time, if Drummer’s stony glare hides a past much like her own. 

“Is that where you joined the OPA?” 

Drummer chuckles and downs the dregs from her glass. “Ah, no. You’d have to actually get me drunk if you want me to spill my guts.” 

Drummer looks softer when she smiles, and younger too. Naomi’s stomach gives a curious little jolt. 

“Another round, then,” Naomi says, and motions to the bartender. 

Another round turns into two, then three, then shots with accompanying salt. They swap engine specs and preferred tools, because Drummer is almost as adept with machinery as she is with a handgun. Naomi follows the curve of Drummer’s throat as Drummer lifts her glass to drink. The bar is muggy with the combined warmth of many humans in a small space, and Drummer’s tattoo gleams with a thin sheen of sweat. Naomi suddenly has to take a long sip of her drink. 

This turns out to be a mistake, as the bitterness of the cheap alcohol burning the back of her mouth makes Naomi cough violently. _Great._ So much for dignity. 

“You been with those Inners too long,” Drummer remarks, clapping her on the back. “Got spoiled, eh?” 

Naomi feels the taunt oozing through Drummer’s Belter drawl. Well, never let anyone say Naomi Nagata isn’t up for a challenge. Holding Drummer’s gaze, she pours herself another full glass, licks a smear of salt from her hand, and downs the whole thing in one gulp. 

Drummer sits up, looking suitably impressed. “I take it back.” 

“You’d better.” Naomi holds the salt dish out to Drummer, and Drummer reaches forward to take it. Their fingers brush. Again, that trembling jolt of heat. 

She rests her hand back on the table and hopes that Drummer won’t notice the blush creeping into her cheeks. Drummer shifts on her stool as she takes her shot, and when she puts the glass back down onto the bar with a loud click, her arm is just a bit closer to Naomi’s than it was before, and their knees gently touch under the bar. 

Oh, Drummer will definitely notice the blush now. 

She looks up and finds Drummer gazing at her with that focused intensity. It makes Naomi’s head spin. 

The electricity has crackled between them since the first night they went dancing together. Drummer is chaos burning beneath needle-sharp control. Naomi had a glimpse behind the stone cold façade before. Being with Drummer would be like gripping a live wire, and that thought is intoxicating as hell. 

Drummer wants her. 

More importantly, Naomi wants _her._  

The music in the bar grows louder as more people enter the crush, and Drummer nudges her hand, slowly. 

“Want to get out of here?” 

Fuck it. She and Jim already decided they were not exclusive.  “Is your bunk nearby?” 

Drummer raises an eyebrow and for a second, Naomi’s nerves waver. Then Drummer lets out a dark chuckle that sends shivers down Naomi’s spine and sets a fire in her belly. 

“If we’re heading there, you might as well call me Camina.” 

Camina. Naomi turns the name over on her tongue. It’s a pretty name with sharp accents, much like the woman herself. 

“Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

Drummer- Camina’s- quarters are as utilitarian as Naomi expected, with the exception of a well-stocked liquor shelf and a necklace of blue beads hanging from a hook next to the mirror. Camina leans her hip against the door while she punches in the lock codes, and Naomi shifts her weight from foot to foot. God, let the door lock before this become awkward. 

Camina turns to her and frowns, the blades of her cheekbones sharpened by the florescent light. “Hey,” she says, voice low and husky as ever, “no pressure to do anything. If you just want to talk, we talk.” 

She appreciates the out, but Naomi is frustrated, horny and more than a little drunk, and Earth nearly got destroyed by an _alien,_ for fuck’s sake. “I don’t want to talk,” she decides. _I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think, because the world almost ended, because thousands of Belters died and Miller died and damn it, I want to feel good._  

Camina pushes herself off the door, but she still watches Naomi carefully. “This be okay between you and Holden? Last thing I need is you two screaming at each other on my dock.” 

A twinge of annoyance burns off the last of Naomi’s apprehension. Her relationships are her business, and she’s no cheater. “Things are open between us.” 

“Well, now.” Hunger gleams in Camina’s eyes as she closes the distance between them. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She leans forward, rests a hand on Naomi’s hip, and for the first time, Naomi realises that Camina is actually shorter than her. She doesn’t have long to process this information, because Camina tilts her face up just as Naomi looks down, and finally, their lips meet. 

Camina kisses with a razor sharp intensity that makes Naomi’s knees buckle. She groans into Camina’s mouth, holding onto her thin frame even as Camina presses her backwards. The kiss quickly turns into a game of one-upmanship, and Naomi finds the zipper of Camina’s jumpsuit to slide it down and expose her throat, then sets her teeth against the edge of Camina’s tattoo. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Camina hisses, grinding against Naomi’s hips. “Those clothes need to go.” 

There’s a brief fumbling interruption as they both shuffle off their mag boots and suits, then they’re down to their undergarments, lying tangled in Camina’s bunk. 

Naomi runs her hand over Camina’s shoulder, enjoying the sight of her lithe form stretched out next to her. Camina is pure muscle and grit, as sleek and deadly as the gun she carries. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Naomi says honestly. 

Camina’s answering smirk is positively filthy. “You know it’s likewise,” she replies, and her lips crash down onto Naomi’s again. Her fingers slide under the hem of Naomi’s singlet, igniting a trail of goose bumps along Naomi’s skin. Naomi tears her mouth away so she can help Camina pull the singlet over her head, desperately keen to feel Camina’s skin against hers. 

They shed the rest of their clothes as quickly as possible in the narrow confines of Camina’s bunk, and a gasp escapes Naomi’s lips at that first touch of skin to skin. 

Camina’s hand comes around to cup Naomi’s cheek as their kisses deepen, and her lips travel down from Naomi’s mouth to her throat, her breasts, her stomach, to— 

Naomi hasn’t cursed like that in years. 

The world narrows down to Camina’s mouth and fingers and the waves that crest and crash through Naomi’s body, and when the fall comes she has to press her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. 

She’s vaguely aware of Camina crawling back up to lie face to face with Naomi, grinning like the cartoon drawings of furry animals that ate birds. What did Earthers call them? Cats. Fluffy cats. God, Naomi’s brain is fried. 

“Feels good, eh?” Camina’s voice is the epitome of ‘smug,’ which, to be fair, she thoroughly deserves. 

Still, it’s high time for payback. 

Naomi hooks her leg over Camina’s hip and rolls them, already sucking a bruise onto her neck. 

“My turn.”

 

* * *

 

Camina is not one for cuddles, as Naomi suspected, but she does pull a blanket over their cooling bodies in the afterglow. The hum of the station’s air filters forms a calming background noise, and Naomi drifts into a happy, satisfied doze. 

She blinks awake when Camina rolls over onto her stomach, stretching her shoulders in a liquid motion. A few strands of hair have come loose from Camina’s braid, and Naomi has the sudden urge to run her hands through those dark tresses. The number of people who have seen Camina with her hair completely unbound is probably close to zero. Naomi tries to picture it, but her mind is still too lazy to do it justice. 

Camina leans her cheek on her elbow and looks down at Naomi. “When are you shipping out?” 

Naomi can tell this is her cue to exit. “Once Fred Johnson and Jim are finished with Cortazar, I’d say.”

Camina bends down and gives Naomi a kiss so light it makes her head spin. “Well,” Camina says, “you ever get bored of sailing around with your Inners, you call me.”

 

* * *

 

Naomi keeps occasional contact with Camina once the _Roci_ leaves Tycho, but the time delay makes things difficult. The next time she sees Camina face to face, it’s on the loading dock of the newly repurposed _Nauvoo_ turned _Behemoth,_ and their roles have shifted yet again. 

Naomi inclines her head in a salute. “Captain.” 

Camina gives one of her trademark eye rolls. “Come on. I asked you here because you don’t do that fawning to power bullshit.” 

Naomi smiles a little at that, but Camina’s face is unmoved. Her hands are clasped behind her back, all business. Naomi knows that if there is one thing Camina Drummer believes in, it’s being good at your job. 

“Drummer,” she acknowledges. This is no place for first names. 

“That’s better.” 

Camina—Drummer—has her braid pinned into a bun at her neck, and Naomi cannot tell if her makeup is heavier or if it just looks that way under the greenish yellow light of the _Behemoth_ instead of the blue light of Tycho Station. Her posture is as straight as it ever was, but her swaggering gait has been sharpened into a brisk march. Drummer is a captain, and Naomi feels a sudden warmth of pride for her friend. 

It’s during the elevator ride up to the command deck that Naomi notices the brittleness in the set line of Drummer’ mouth, as though she has been clenching her jaw for weeks. She knows that Drummer is no fan of Fred Johnson’s renewed alliance with Dawes, but something in her stance makes her seem more on edge than Naomi would have expected. 

“Captain or not, I’ve got your back, Camina.” 

The corner of Drummer’s mouth twitches, her shoulders gently rising and falling in a deep breath. “You should know; I don’t fuck people under my command.” 

It’s not that Naomi expected anything different, but the comment still stings. Not a lot, but more than it should. 

They each have a part to play in this new Belter state, and hers is to do what she does best. 

“Understood. Tell me about the communications systems. Has there much been progress since you sent me those specs?” 

The universe is changing, and they have work to do.


End file.
